


Dream Woman

by Moit



Series: The Domestication of Stiles and Derek [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Master/Pet, PTSD Derek, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sex Toys, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his comfortable relationship with Stiles, Derek dreams of Kate, and it's more like a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This one is _dark_. Please heed all the warnings. I'm putting really explicit trigger warning-shaped explanations at the end. If I missed any, please let me know. 
> 
> On the lighter side, this fic takes place probably somewhere between chapters 15 and 16 of Domestication.
> 
> This was written by Sydnie and I some time in 2014.
> 
> During the Derek/Kate stuff, I played Derek and Syd played Kate. Woo!

Like most nights, Derek falls asleep easily with Stiles' reassuring weight at his back. He never imagined he'd fall in with the hyperactive boy, but they've been together for three years now, and Derek can't imagine his life without him.

 

Unlike most nights, Derek declines Stiles' offer for sex. Even after all these years, he still doesn't feel comfortable in his own skin. There are times that Stiles looks at him with such love and devotion in his eyes, and as much as Derek echoes the emotions, he can't get past the emotional scars he still carries.

 

But Stiles is patient. He spoons up behind Derek, and since they're almost exactly the same height, it makes the werewolf feel safe, valued, loved.

 

Why he dreams of Kate is anyone's guess.

  
  


Derek is standing is the bedroom at Kate's apartment--always her bedroom, never his, lest his family hear them. He's not nude, not yet. Kate never wanted him to undress until he was within her sight. He's wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt just like he used to when he first met her, but he feels like himself. In the dream, he's more confused than anything, but just goes with it because that's how dreams are wont to flow.  

 

There's no sign of Kate yet, but Derek can sense her presence, and instinctively, he drops to his knees next to the bed. He's not really sure why he does it, he just knows that he needs to.

  
  


Kate's apartment: some eerily cheerful meeting of Sex and the City and Van Helsing's treasure trove of creature-killing tools. Cool ivory tower candles glow in a cluster near a bricked-over fireplace, and orchids reach weightlessly into the air from glass bud vases on the mantle. It could look like any twenty-something woman's dream apartment, but then again there are fasteners on the bedposts, and a gun in clear view on the nightstand.

 

"Ready to play?" she grins, breezing in from the darkness of the hallway.

 

In the demi-light she's beautiful and almost romantic, hair falling in loose waves, lips shining with a smooth gloss. She's wearing an open, kimono-style silk robe, and underneath a lace bra and panties. Sometimes she wears stockings; tonight she doesn't.

 

"I found it," she informs him, dangling a harness a few inches from his nose. Her long nails rake through his hair, and she tips his head back for a better look, the way an owner admonishes a dog with evidence of his infraction. "Up, boy," she hums, tugging his upper body onto the bed by the scruff of his neck, "down."

 

Kate's brusque treatment has Derek hard and aching in an instant. His cock is like a heavy weight swinging between his legs as he buries his face into the soft duvet, keeping his ass in the air. His hands tangle in the blankets on either side of his body, giving him something to hang on to because he knows he'll need it.

 

No matter how far away she is, Derek can still smell the heady scent of her perfume, and it's making him dizzy. She told him once that the scent is one of her own making: infused with wolfsbane to keep him complacent around her. He's not sure if there's wolfsbane this time because he's too aroused to think past anything other than the growing need between his legs.

 

All Derek can think about is getting naked, getting inside Kate, and getting off. He'll play all her stupid games, be her little puppy, because they both know that he has the best orgasms when he's with her.

 

So he breathes in harshly through his nose.

 

And waits.

 

Even without preternatural senses Kate can hear the uptick in Derek's breathing, harsh and deep, through his nose. Her lips twist into a practiced smirk as she unclasps her bra and leans over him, sliding the lacy material off and crushing the pad against his nose.

 

"You like that?" she grins, "smell good to you, boy?"

 

With one hand pinning the back of his neck she reaches for the nightstand, digging out the lube and dildo, this one bigger than the one she uses for herself, and a touch more realistic.

 

After all, she traffics in the real thing: he doesn't.

 

Again she leans down over him, licking against the shell of his ear. She drops the hand on his neck to the hem of his t-sirt and pushes it up, wriggling it off over his chin and tossing it someplace. Her nipples brush against his back, and she gives a roll of her hips against his ass to hint at what's to come. When she draws her bra away from his nose it's only to take up the dildo, which she presses against his lips.

 

"Get it ready," she hums, "be a good boy."

 

Derek starts when the dildo presses against his lips, and he pulls back instinctively. But when Kate continues to press it into his mouth, he has no choice but to unlock his lips and allow the plastic phallus inside. The smell hits him first, followed quickly by the taste: rubber, latex, and absolutely no sign of Kate. She's masturbated in front of him before, then made him lick her dildo clean, but this one bears no trace of her feminine scent, much to Derek's confusion.

 

The shaft of the dildo is thick with corded veins. It's difficult for Derek to get his mouth around without stretching his jaw open, but if that's what Kate wants, that's what he'll do.

 

It hits the back of his throat, and though Derek has no gag reflex to speak of, a growl rises unbidden. His wolf does not like the rubber object threatening to choke off his air supply. Several deep breaths through his nose do little to calm his canine side, but at least it allows Kate to push the head of the fake cock past his uvula.

 

She only wants to test his limits, it seems, because the cock comes out of his throat almost as quickly as it went in, and settles against his tongue like a paper weight. This one is solid, the latex designed to give a more realistic heft than a plastic dildo, and Derek can only wonder what Kate means to do with him tonight.

  
  


A low growl startles him hazily from sleep. Stiles nestles his face further into his pillow and flings a hand out to settle on Derek's back, rubbing slow, clumsy circles.

 

He gets like this, sometimes.

 

* * *

 

Kate's hand flattens on his back, rubbing slow circles. She snaps the harness into place single-handed, leaving the dildo to rest against Derek's tongue. She can see his cheeks working against it uneasily as he breathes around it, and it's a good look for him.

 

"Oh, baby," she chuckles, "you must be so horny. You ready for me?"

 

As she speaks she pushes his basketball shorts and boxers down his thighs, skimming her nails over the round swell of his ass.

 

"Gonna need you to be real still," she warns, squeezing a cheek.

 

From there she massages him, runs her fingers down his thighs and back up, edging her thumbs nearer and nearer to his hole. When she's sure she has him tingling with anticipation, she places a single fingertip at the seam of his balls and draws it upward slowly, until it's resting against the tight pucker of his ass. She taps a couple of times, very gently, giving him the idea of where this is going, and then nudges more insistently.

 

Derek's entire body freezes, but not from her words. The feeling of her finger there is enough to make his blood run cold. She's talked about this before, implied it, and even skirted the subject, but this time is for real. Though he wants to get up and shout, run away, anything, Derek's limbs are suddenly frozen in place and all he can do is clench his asshole as tightly as possible in an effort to keep Kate's finger out.

 

It pushes in anyway, of course, and Derek feels the tingling sensation of his fangs dropping down. He knows that Kate will kill him if he bites her dildo in half, though, so he forces himself to focus on reigning the wolf in, and that seems to be enough for Kate to gain control of his body.

 

Her finger is dry at first, and it burns. It doesn't hurt badly enough to bring tears to Derek's eyes, but he does whimper low in his throat, hoping that she'll take pity on him and turn her attention to a different sort of game. Like most of Kate's "games," though, it only seems to spur her on further.

 

His cock, the traitor that it is, has not flagged one bit. It's still swaying between his thighs as if hoping one of them will take pity and stroke it.

 

Of course he would put a damper on their fun with his whimpering -- Kate's never liked that about him, his sensitivity, his tendency to melancholy. She tugs the dildo out of his mouth, wipes the thin strand of saliva trailing back along his lips, and withdraws the tip of her finger from his ass.

 

"I'll get you nice and wet if you're good," she informs him, drawing her hand soothingly over his ass. Then she raises it, unannounced, and brings it down with a harsh slap.

 

"But if you whine..."

 

Another couple of smacks drives the point in, and in case there's confusion she slips her hand down between his thighs and takes hold of his sac, rolling his balls in her warm palm.

 

"You got it, boy?" she whispers in his ear, sing-song, and then pulls away briefly to attach the dildo to her harness. It fits well, nice and tight; she never worries about her pace in this piece of equipment.

 

She shows him the lube before scooping it up in her hand and snapping the cap open, but she did allow that this was contingent upon being good.

 

"I said: you got it, boy? You ready?"

 

Derek is aroused, excited, and even a little frightened.

 

"Yes!" he chokes out, although he's not sure to what he just agreed. "Yes, Kate," he adds for good measure. He can't remember if she told him to call her Mistress or something of the like, so he goes with what he knows.

 

With the dildo out of his mouth he can open and close his jaw a few times to stretch it out. He's afraid to say anything else, lest Kate decide to spank him some more. Even worse than her spanking him would be her finding out that he liked it when she spanked him, though he's sure she'll figure that out pretty quickly.

 

A finger enters his ass again, and although he's been expecting it, Derek still flinches involuntarily. It's slick and wet and slides all the way down to the joint with ease. Derek's asshole contracts around it instinctually, and it's a weird feeling, having something up there. It makes him dread what's to come.

 

As she fingers him she reaches underneath to squeeze his cock cursorily, mostly to check if he's hard or not. Some of them get soft when they're afraid, but not Derek.

 

Not at all, in fact.

 

Kate grins crookedly.

 

"You're a bad boy, getting so turned on by a little spanking. You don't get this hard for pussy, Derek."

 

She gives him one light, smoothing stroke before pulling back and slapping his ass, following with a tight squeeze. A red print flares and fades under her kneading, and she adds another finger, slicked down with lube.

 

"If you like that, you're gonna love it when I fuck you, babe."

 

As if to make her point she twists her fingers inside him, bumping her knuckles against the raised lump of his prostate. Meanwhile, the head of the dildo buts against his thigh, and Kate thrusts a little, smearing a line of slick over his skin.

 

Derek presses his face back into the coverlet, but it's not enough to hide the burn of shame on his cheeks. He tries to convince himself that it's just because what Kate's doing feels so good, but he knows it's not true. When he was younger, he may have tried . . . experimenting . . . but that's only because his ass is his, and it was before the fire, anyway . . .

 

Then Kate's fingers inside him brush against something he had only hoped to find and his whole body goes taut for a completely different reason, except for his hips, which thrust against empty air, indirectly causing him to clench and release against the fingers in his ass. Whatever she's touching feels good enough to make him blow his wad right the hell now, and it's enough to make him forget any misgivings about her fucking him, if it's going to feel anything like this.

 

"Please," he grounds out, little more than an exhalation, and it's the first time he's spoken without Kate's prompt since this whole scene started. He's hard enough that his dick feels like it could cut diamond, and he's about to do anything to relieve the pressure in his balls.

 

He begs so nicely it's hard to ignore.

 

Kate withdraws her fingers from his body with an indecent pop, then places the tip of the bottle of slick just inside his hole and squeezes. It's only a little spurt, enough to get him wet inside, like a real omega should be.

 

The rest she smooths over the length of the dildo, tip to base, because this is going to be deep.

 

"You take it up the ass like a natural, you know that, Der?" She twists her fingers in his hair as she positions the tip against his loosened hole, and then forces his head back as she pushes inside, inch by inch.

 

"Wish I had a big, thick knot for you, babe," she purrs, "you'd like that, huh? Want some big, strong Alpha to knot you up and hold you down?"

 

By the time she's done taunting him she's almost pushed the dildo all the way inside him, down to the base of the harness. She swivels her hips slightly from side to side as she works it to the very end.

 

"This'll have to do."

 

Though Derek has never had any thoughts about being an omega himself (or taking another Alpha's knot, for that matter) her words nevertheless make his dick leak against the coverlet.

 

"Nghhh," he grinds out unintelligibly as Kate's dick slides home. It's been in his mouth, but it still feels like she's ramming a baseball bat up there. He doesn't produce slick like her deluded mind thinks he should.

 

After several thrusts, though, Kate finds her rhythm, and with it, Derek's prostate. The nudge against the gland makes him see stars, and he's panting and pushing back against her before he realises what he's doing. It just feels so good and all he can do is chase that feeling.

 

"Kate, kate, kate," he pants on every thrust inward, repeating her name like a mantra or a prayer.

 

"Come for me," Kate is panting with the sheer exertion of her thrusting, and Derek is taking it as good as any omega, riding her cock and moaning on it. "Let go, Der, I'm not gonna touch your dick. Come on, baby, come on my cock. I know you wanna, you horny little slut."

 

She's squeezing the back of his neck and pushing his face down into the duvet, watching the pool of drool form around his open mouth as he pants and grits and finally moans --

 

* * *

 

Stiles pushes up on his elbows blearily, sure he heard something -- and it's not the monitor, he tells himself, the kids are at his parents' for the weekend.

 

It's Derek, sleep talking -- sleep moaning, rather -- and the name is hers.

 

"Der," Stiles grabs his shoulder and squeezes, shaking him, "come on, Der. Hey. Hey, wake up, come on."

 

Only in leaning so close does he feel the searing heat radiating off the werewolf, hotter even than usual. With a quick glance down he confirms what he suspected -- there's a wet spot forming in the sheet, and the ridged line of Derek's dick is hard against it. Stiles knits his brows together and tries not to think of the implication of it.

 

"Babe," he murmurs again, "wake up. You're dreaming."

 

Derek wakes up gasping, momentarily blind. He shoves himself back against the headboard, where he breathes so shuddering quick it dizzies him, and he pushes his hands against his face to bring himself somewhere closer to reality.

 

"Stiles," he rasps, and it's more the scent of the omega than the sound of him that proves this is real, not a dream.

 

And the dream itself doesn't fade: Derek can still hear her voice receding in his mind.

 

"I'm right here, babe," Stiles says, the tone of Derek's voice sending a frisson of worry through his body. He leans over to turn on the bedside lamp, and they both squint into the sudden brightness, Derek more than him. His mate is covered in sweat, his t-shirt clinging to him like he'd run a mile in his sleep.

 

"It's okay, it's okay," he says, drawing Derek into a hug. "I'm right here. You're awake now." He keeps murmuring soft words into Derek's ears to calm him. The Alpha's heart is racing so hard it doesn't take werewolf hearing for Stiles to feel it against his own chest.

 

He runs his hands up and down Derek's back reassuringly. He hasn't seen his mate this upset since they day they found out he was pregnant with Teddy, and his mind is suddenly racing with a thousand possibilities.

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks finally, pulling away enough so he can look Derek in the face. His eyes have a wild look in them that Stiles finds unsettling. He's almost afraid the werewolf is going to tear off for a run in the middle of the night, but he knows Derek would never abandon him like that in an effort to keep from sharing his feelings.

 

After the initial burst of familiarity rises a tide of shame; here's Stiles, his lover, his mate, mother of his children, and Derek is still having wet dreams like a teenager about the woman who murdered his family and destroyed his life. It feels like infidelity of the worst order; can't even be excused by emotional attachment or desperation. Derek swallows thickly, and tears burn at his sinuses, but for the moment he holds them back.

 

"No," he says, shaking his head, he doesn't want to talk about it, not now, likely not ever. Stiles doesn't deserve to be burdened with this.

 

His hands come to rest on the other's shoulders, one working up to the back of his neck, fingers tightening at the nape. Derek pulls him in for a crushing kiss, opening his mouth wide and sucking desperately at Stiles' tongue.

 

"Want you to fuck me," he pants into his mouth. Every inch of him is still wet with sweat and the adrenaline is still pumping; with the way pain is dulled at the moment by shock and rush he thinks he could take it dry. "Come on," he insists, tugging at Stiles' boxers, "now. I want it now."

 

Though he's surprised at Derek's sudden insistence that they make love--he refuses to think of the act that conceived their children as fucking--but there is no denying the interest between his or Derek's legs. He's also an obedient omega (when he wants to be) so he allows Derek to all-but rip his boxers off. A moment later, he's staring at the firm swell of Derek's ass and his cock goes from semi-hard to rigid in an instant.

 

"Give me--ah--just a second." Stiles smoothes the palm of one hand down Derek's ass before leaning back over to his nightstand for the tube of lube they keep there for when he's on the dry side (or for moments like this).

 

He returns with the tube of Wet and hastily squirts some into his palm. It's not often his mate wakes up in the middle of the night asking for Stiles to top. His hands are shaking with excitement and he almost drops the bottle when he tries to set it upright on the nightstand. He ends up just letting it roll into the crease between the bed and the wall because they might need it again before they're done.

 

"Okay, let's go," Stiles says, more to himself than Derek as he settles behind the Alpha.

 

His touch is gentle, tentative. Derek is always more vulnerable like this, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is frighten him away. He starts by lubing both hands, and then taking Derek's cock in one while rubbing one gentle fingertip over the furled opening of Derek's hole.

 

"Is this okay?" he murmurs gently against the bare skin of Derek's thigh.

 

Derek shifts to his hands and knees and lets Stiles work, holding his head in his hands.

 

Even though he knows it's Stiles -- he can smell him, hear his voice, and he doesn't move a thing like Kate -- he still imagines her, somewhere in his mind's eye. His body reacts like it's her, and deep inside himself he still feels the bruise of her dildo, as though she were right there, right now, still fucking him.

 

"Don't do that," Derek grinds out, voice low and husky and issuing from someplace deep in his chest, enough to vibrate in the mattress as he speaks down into it. "Just fuck me, Stiles."

 

Because it still feels for all the world like he's ready for it, loose and wet and empty.

 

And it still burns, of course, and stretches sharply when Stiles penetrates him; Derek can feel himself pull and heal around his mate's cock, and for a moment he's back in reality, head spinning, the room strangely turning around him.

 

He pushes hard on his temples and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

"Hard, Stiles," he huffs, "hard as you can."

 

With that he braces his hands against the headboard and lets his forehead rest against the mattress, spreading his knees to take the brunt of whatever force Stiles can muster. And he tells himself he will not cry, even though his sinuses are tight and heavy and hot with the threat of it.

 

Not one to deny his mate, Stiles pulls out and pushes back in as hard as he can. He knows it's not as hard as Derek can go, but he's got a fair bit of strength behind his leftover baby fat. He can feel the sharp points of his hipbones pressing in to Derek's ass on every thrust, but the Alpha makes no move to stop him.

 

The clutch of Derek's body around his cock is almost too tight, and Stiles feels his orgasm approaching rapidly. There isn't quite enough lube, though, and despite the Alpha's protests Stiles smears a bit more around the base of his cock to make his going a little smoother.

 

"How you doing over there?" Stiles asks, leaning over Derek's back to mouth at the skin of his shoulder. He deliberately avoids using the words down or under because Derek already has enough emotional baggage involving his status in their relationship and the last thing Stiles wants to do is complicate that when he finally gets to top.

 

He takes his mate's cock in hand, stroking him to the rhythm of his thrusts. He doesn't want to get off without Derek, certainly not when this was his mate's idea.

 

"You gonna cum for me, big boy?"

 

She used to do that, say that; all of this has happened before, and everything is a version of something else.

 

Even this, which in some configuration made his children and sealed his mating, is only an iteration of something corrupt.

 

Derek feels the heat behind his eyes overtake him, though his lids are squeezed shut and his teeth bared with the tight clench of his jaw. Tears wet his lashes and well at the corners before dripping into the top sheet; his sinuses swell and he breathes through his teeth, harshly.

 

Don't let him know, he tells himself, convinced it will be better if he does not cum; it's not like he deserves to, anyway, being what he is.

 

But he can't hold it back. His sobbing gradually shakes his shoulders, and grows audible even as he forces his mouth and nose down into the sheet to stifle it. All he can think of is Kate, with him like this, fucking him like this, and this really is what his family was murdered for, for his stupidity and gullibility and his hungry, wet hole; he deserves this, all of it.

 

His fingers clench white-knuckled in the sheets by his face, now soaked with mucus and saliva and tears.

 

At first Stiles thinks Derek is groaning into the sheets, muffling his noises because it's so late, so he increases the speed of his thrusts and his hand on Derek's cock. But soon he realises something is wrong.

 

Terribly wrong.

 

The sounds coming out of Derek's mouth are not cries of pleasure--he's crying.

 

Stiles pulls out hastily, wincing even as Derek's body grips him tightly. "Babe?" he says, dropping down onto his side next to Derek, though the Alpha's face is turned away from him. "Derek, what's wrong?" he asks gently, carding a hand through Derek's hair. He can't possibly have hurt the werewolf, at least he doesn't think so.

 

The pillow beneath Derek's head, Stiles notices, is soaked with tears and snot and his heart just breaks.

 

Curling his body around as much of Derek as he can, Stiles just runs his hand down the length of Derek's flank, whispering softly to him. "You have to tell me what's wrong or I can't fix it. Was it something I said? Something I did?"

 

Then it hits him.

 

"Was it something you dreamt?"

 

At first his intention was to turn away, but somehow when he folds onto his side he winds up facing Stiles, and he nudges his head under his chin to avoid the other looking at his face. He folds his hands over his eyes, pressing hard, as if to dam up the tears.

 

Not that it does much, of course. Stiles' hands on his body are simultaneously comforting and disquieting. The other's skin is so soft, and his hands are so gentle, and he's good and pure because he was just a boy when Derek fucked him, when he got him pregnant with Conor, effectively ruining his chances at moving on with a life of his own, with someone better, cleaner.

 

Derek holds one of Stiles' wrists and squeezes lightly, laying his thumb against his palm. There aren't even callouses there. Stiles has never hurt anyone, never...

 

"'M so sorry," he manages, breathing hard against Stiles' chest. "I fucked everything up, I just..."

 

He shakes his head and still can't seem to get a grip on himself. It occurs to him that he's spiraling, that he's losing control.

 

"It was about her," he admits, still trembling, still gritting his teeth, "she -- it was about Kate."

 

"Your dream?" Stiles says, hardly bothering to mask his surprise. While he's not surprised that Derek dreamt about her, he is surprised that the dream brought this kind of emotion--and arousal--out of Derek.

 

"It was just a dream," he says a moment later, pulling Derek tighter against his body. "Just a dream. That crazy bitch is dead. She can't hurt you or your family anymore. We're safe, Derek."

 

He rubs Derek's back in soothing circles the way he does for Teddy and Conor when they're upset. Sometimes his mate just takes too much upon himself and it hurts Stiles to see that.

 

"You didn't fuck anything up. Look at me." He nudges Derek's chin up so he can look the Alpha in his tearstained grey eyes. "You have given me the most perfect, beautiful family, Derek. I could not have done that without you." Wiping at the tears in Derek's eyes with his thumbs, he forces himself to smile.

 

"Kate may have taken a piece of you, but she didn't get the best part." Stiles lays one hand purposefully over Derek's chest.

 

Stiles' thumbs trail under his eyes and his touch is as gentle as any mother's. For a minute, eyes closed, Derek imagines Talia, and she was never half so gentle as Stiles is by nature. He holds his wrists, running his fingers over the fine dark hair there, and brings Stiles' knuckles down to his lips.

 

He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

 

"Kate used to...I mean, not often...she used to..."

 

He thinks of the word debridement, the process by which dead tissue is cleared away to see what can be salvaged underneath. It may be the case that telling Stiles will diminish some of the joy he gets from those rare occasions on which he tops -- but it is also the case that Derek can't lie to him, not now, like this, with the burn of Stiles' sex still stinging inside his body.

 

"She used to fuck me," he breathes. It stirs echoes of memories, just the confession of it, and she really did like him to hold her toys in his mouth before she put them in his ass.

 

"I know, baby, I know," Stiles says in the same easy voice. It's absolutely breaking his heart to see Derek like this, but there isn't much he can do other than try to calm him down.

 

"But she's gone." Stiles frames Derek's face in his hands, thumbs tracing idle circles across his mate's cheeks. "She's gone, Derek. I think it's time you let her go."

 

He finally manages to get the werewolf back into bed, shuts out the light, and curls himself around his mate. Kate Argent will never again disrupt the family they've created if Stiles has anything to do with it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Derek dreams about Kate raping him (and I don't use that word lightly) with sex toys and her fingers. He has PTSD and flashbacks from it.


End file.
